You Healed Me
by emilykaywrites
Summary: When Castiel stumbles into their hotel room, and crumples into a heap on the floor, Dean is right there to tend to him. But when no wound is visible and Cas is still in agony, the brothers are stumped. That is, until Dean and Cas figure out just how to heal him.


One Week Previous…

"I need to return to Heaven," Castiel states, face expressionless and voice hollow. "It will only be for a brief amount of time. I shall return tomorrow evening." And then he's gone, leaving nothing in his wake but the flutter-flutter sound of his wings.

Present…

"Damn it, Cas! Where the hell are you?" Dean practically yells in frustration. He and Sam have been calling Castiel every single day since he left a week ago. "If you can hear me, get your fluffy ass down here."

To say Dean's pissed is a bit of an understatement. Cas has pulled absences like this before. But usually only few hours at best, a couple days at worst. But a whole week? Underneath his anger, Dean can't deny he's worried. There's this awful feeling in his gut telling him something's wrong. But he tramps it down and sighs again in exasperation.

It's two more days of fruitless praying before anything is heard of Castiel. And by heard, the pained whimpering of a man who appears out of nowhere before collapsing into a heap on the dirty motel floor.

Sam's currently out searching for a place that sells semi-decent food in this crap-shack town they're staying in, and Dean doesn't remember where he set his phone. So he rushes to where Castiel is laying, a small mound of tan trench coat, and drops to his knees at his side. He carefully rolls Castiel over, uncertain of what he's going to find.

Cas moans – thankfully, that means he's conscious. He's also clutching his stomach, his face screwed up in obvious pain.

"Cas! Can you hear me? Cas, it's me," Dean says, gently lifting Cas' hands from where they protectively lay across his midsection. Cas tries to fight him, but it's obvious he's weakened from whatever injury he's sustained.

Panic floods through Dean when finally manages to move Cas' resistant hands and all he can see is blood.

Castiel's shirt is soaked and therefore ruined by the wet crimson leaking from his stomach.

"I'm sorry man," Dean says, trying to un-tuck Castiel's button up from his trousers. "I have to remove this. I'm sorry."

After a few more unproductive tugs to Cas' shirt, Dean realizes that, _of course it's not gonna be that simple, _he has to cut it. Lightly patting Castiel's arm and whispering sorry once more, Dean stands and goes in search of their emergency medical kit.

Once he finds it, he goes to the mini fridge and grabs the bottle of whiskey stashed there. He figures Cas' angel mojo will ward off infection, but Dean can never be too certain.

He returns to where Cas is laying, in the exact same position Dean left him, and settles on his knees next to him. At that exact moment, Dean hears the keycard in the door, and then Sam's standing there, two bags of groceries in his arms.

"Dean, you think you –" and then he sees Cas and gasps. He kicks the door shut behind him and sets the bags on the small table by the door. "What the hell happened?" he queries, concern clear in his voice.

"Cas just popped in here about ten minutes ago, just like this. Hasn't moved since. Or said anything for that matter." Dean roots through the first aid kit and produces a small pair of surgical scissors. "I was just about to look at the wound, but I'm gonna have to cut his shirt."

"There-there's a lot of blood, Dean," Sam says, looking like he's about to upchuck. "Should angels bleed that much?"

"I didn't even know angels _could _bleed." Dean replies, unbuttoning Cas' trousers and working the scissors into a slit between buttons, working them open and close until he's cut the shirt open far enough to move away from the wound.

And then he's peeling the once white, now red, fabric away from Cas' stomach and he and Sam both gasp.

There's no wound. Instead, a white, glowing light seems to be coming from within Castiel's body. Dean looks to his face and sees he's opened his eyes. But they're unfocused and he looks like he's in immense pain.

Dean is baffled, and a quick glance at Sam shows he is, too. There's _no wound. _Where the hell is the blood coming from? Did Cas heal himself? If so, why does he look to be in agony?

"Cas, Castiel! C'mon Cas," Dean says, panic evident in his voice and he moves forward to cup Cas' cheek, turning his head to face him. "Cas, what's going on? Talk to me, please."

Dean glances up at Sam, a questioning look on his face.

What do you do when your angel is in obvious pain with no obvious cause?

"We should probably move him to the bed," Sam suggests.

"Is it a good idea to move him?" Dean asks, uncertain of whether or not moving Castiel will make whatever is wrong worse.

"I don't know, but I'm sure it'll be easier to tend to him if he's on a bed. He'd probably be more comfortable too."

Together, the brothers, sure to be as careful as possible, hoist Castiel up; Dean supporting his upper half, Sam his feet, and move him over to the closest bed. After laying him down as gentle as possible, his face still screwed up, eyes unseeing, the brothers can do nothing but ponder what the hell is going on.

Dean, never being one to just stand and do nothing, especially when there's _something _right in front of him, walks back over to where he left the first aid kit, and then grabs a washcloth from the bathroom, wetting it with warm water, and returns to the bed, sitting carefully next to Castiel's still form.

Dean gently removes the trench coat from Cas' shoulders, and picks up the scissors once again, proceeding to cut the remnants of the shirt off his body. He then takes the wet washcloth and cleans the blood off Cas' stomach, sure to be careful of the white light that hasn't ceased glowing, until he's clean.

There's a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, a warm, unidentifiable roiling that feels somewhat similar to possessiveness. An emotion he's only ever felt before in regards to protecting Sam. He doesn't understand it, so he tramps it down, pushes it far from the front of his mind to ponder over later.

Castiel has still yet to say a single word, and Dean is fully worried by this point. Sam isn't saying anything, just standing there watching Dean tend to Cas with a thoughtful expression on his face. Dean tries hard not to think about what it could mean.

When he's finished cleaning Cas off, he removes his shoes and pulls the covers up and over him, trying his hardest to ignore the eerie white light coming from within Castiel. When he looks up at Castiel's face, his eyes are closed and his face appears somewhat more relaxed than Dean's seen it since he first appeared about an hour ago. Dean's pretty sure angels don't sleep, but maybe because of whatever's wrong with Cas, he can now? Or maybe he's unconscious? Even though he physically doesn't need to, Cas' chest rises and falls as his vessel breaths. That eases Dean's nerves somewhat, and he goes to join Sam where he's sat down at the table, the food completely forgotten.

He picks up the bottle of whiskey from the floor and grabs a couple glasses from the TV stand, then sits at the table across from Sam and pours them each a glass.

Sam says nothing, just accepts the glass Dean pushes toward him, clearly as confused about the whole situation as Dean is.

The odd possessive feeling is still turning in Dean's stomach and all he can think about is curling up next to Cas, protecting him. But instead, he chases the thoughts back with half the contents of his glass. He doesn't want to deal with them right now, doesn't have the energy to. So he scoots down in the hard motel chair and closes his eyes. He'll deal with it in the morning.

A few hours later, Dean stirs to the sound of Castiel's voice. A quick glance at his watch tells him it's 3AM. Sam is slumped down in the seat next to him, still sound asleep.

Dean glances over to the bed to see Castiel sitting up, perfectly still, speaking in pained Enochian. Dean reaches across the table and taps Sam awake, gesturing for him to look at Cas when's he finally roused.

Carefully, Dean stands and walks over to the bed.

"Cas?" he says as he approaches. "Cas, it's me, Dean. Are you okay? What's going on?"

Sam's right behind him, concern etched into his still half asleep features.

Cas looks over at the sound of Dean's voice, for the first time since he arrived his eyes focusing right on Dean's face.

"Dean?"

"Cas," Dean breathes, relieved as he sits carefully next to Cas on the bed. "Hey man, what's going on?"

"I'm confused, Dean. Where am I? What happened?" Castiel questions, looking up at Sam, then back at Dean. His hand is resting over his stomach, the exact place Dean cleaned mere hours before.

"You're here with Sam and I at a hotel in – where are we, Sam?" Dean asks, looking back at his brother.

"Silverthorne, Colorado, I think," Sam responds. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure. Been kind of distracted lately, though." The last part of his statement is a disjointed mumble.

"Thanks, Sam," Dean says, turning his attention back to Castiel, ignoring his brother's last quip. "You're with Sam and I in Colorado. You popped in here a few hours ago, covered in blood, and just collapsed on the floor. When we checked you over, there was no wound, even though you were covered in blood, and, man, you were freaking _glowing._" Dean finishes his explanation with a childlike smile on his face, even though the mysterious white light still baffles him.

"I remember now – the war in Heaven. My grace must have been injured."

"Your grace? Then why was there blood?" Sam asks, kneeling on the floor by Cas' knees.

"Well, I was physically injured as well, but my grace was strong enough to heal the wound. My grace itself was injured though, and that will take more time to heal." Cas explains, a look of bemusement on his face.

"Is there anything I – uh, we," Dean quickly corrects himself, "can do?" Dean ducks his head, trying his best to hide his sudden blush.

"I…I'm not sure," Castiel says, then he sits up straighter and Dean can practically see the light bulb flash on above his head. But just as quickly, Castiel slumps back down, obviously deflated. "Never mind."

"Cas? Cas, what? What can I do?" This time Dean doesn't even bother to correct himself, and is barely aware of blush that engulfs his face once more.

"Well, I just…I don't think you'd be…comfortable with it, is all." Cas replies, not meeting Dean's gaze.

Sam stands behind Dean, carefully observing the two, a fond smile stretched over his face. He knows what's going on here, knows this is Dean's area, his mess to clean up, his angel to fix. Slowly he backs away, over to the mini-fridge, and grabs a beer.

"I wouldn't be comfortable with what, Cas?" Dean asks, unsure of where this is going, his stomach doing that strange fluttering from before.

"Well," Cas begins, situating himself so he's fully facing Dean, and finally making eye contact, "when an angel forms a bond with a human, like I have with you, well, the human is capable of healing the angel's grace if it is ever wounded." Castiel finishes, searching Dean's face for a reaction.

Dean sits stock still, taking in everything Castiel just told him. _He _can heal Cas. _He _can fix Cas' grace. The realization of the feeling in his gut starts slowly, then progresses until he's gasping for breath and it's all he can focus on.

He's bonded to Castiel. He'd always known that, just not the depth of it. And now he has the ability to _heal _Cas, all because of their bond. Dean also realizes, that somewhere along the way, he's fallen in love with Cas.

The realization doesn't scare or shock him near as much as he would have assumed, even though it's quite an onslaught of understandings all at once.

After a few moments of silence, Dean takes a deep breath and looks Castiel right in the eye.

"So…what do I have to do?"

"You don't _have _to do anything, Dean. I just said you are _able _to do something." Castiel counters, not wanting Dean to do something he normally wouldn't. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Who says I don't want to?" Dean replies, a small twinge of hurt in his voice.

"Eh-em." Sam loudly clears his throat from where he's seated behind them. "I think I'll…leave you two alone."

Then, despite it being nearly four in the morning, Sam grabs his jacket and keys and is out the door before either Dean or Cas can say anything.

Dean can't be bothered by it for too long, there are more important matters at hand.

"I want to help you, Cas. I -," The words are right there on the tip of his tongue. Three little words he knows he means with every fiber of his being; three words he knows Castiel feels, too. But regardless, he still can't bring himself to say them, so he settles for, "I want to. Help you, I mean."

"Okay, Dean. But you have to promise me that you're sure."

"I am. Just please tell me what I need to do."

Cas takes a deep breath. "This is going to sound insane. You see, our bond is of the…spiritual sense. When I pulled you from Hell and healed you, a part of my grace attached itself to your soul, and in return, a part of your soul latched onto my grace."

Castiel looks at Dean's face, making sure he's keeping up, before he continues.

"My grace still has the full ability to heal itself, the wound wasn't too serious, but with our bond_ you _have the ability to heal me even faster."

When several moments pass and Dean still hasn't responded, Castiel carefully reaches out and touches his hand to Dean's cheek. "Do you understand, Dean?" he questions.

Green eyes flicker up to meet blue, Castiel's hand warm and comforting on Dean's cheek. "I understand, Cas. Now please tell me just what I have to do."

Their faces so close to each other, rather than explain, Cas leans forwards and carefully brushes his lips against Dean's, showing him what he means.

Dean is momentarily shocked by the press of Cas' lips against his own. It isn't unpleasant, and as the fluttering in his stomach turns into a fucking whirlwind, he begins to kiss back, gentle presses to match Castiel's.

When Cas opens his mouth, his cool, sweet breath washing over Dean's face, allowing him entrance, Dean wastes no time. Dean delves into Cas' warm mouth, his tongue mapping out every inch of Castiel's mouth, and they both moan, their tongues tangling together in a sensual dance.

When they break apart for air a few seconds later, Dean can see that Cas already looks better, and that the bright light from within him in dimming. Dean believes that's a good thing, if Castiel's face is anything to go by.

The angel reaches forward and latches onto the lapels of Dean's button-up, drawing him forward 'til he's standing, and then pulling him on top of him atop the bed.

Dean tries and fails to muffle his shocked gasp, and then they both burst into giggles, sounding for all the world like teenagers.

Dean leans down and captures Castiel's lips once more, plunging his tongue inside Cas' pliant mouth.

The heat and the emotions of being with Cas like he never before realized he wanted to be, has Dean achingly hard within seconds, and he can feel Cas' firm length against his thigh. He experimentally ruts down against Cas, pleased when he hears Cas moan in pleasure.

"Do-do that again," Cas moans, his breathing harsh and erratic. "Do that again, Dean. Please."

Happy to oblige, Dean rolls his hips again, this time a little more forcefully, drawing a groan of pleasure from both of them.

Lolling his head back in ecstasy, Cas releases his hands from where they are tightly gripping the comforter, and brings them up to grab Dean's lets, moving them until he's fully straddling Cas' hips. He then moves his hands up to grip tightly to Dean's biceps, and grinds his hips upwards, creating a rhythm of his own.

After a few moments of fumbling to match the other's rhythm, the two begin to pick up the pace, not bothered by the fact that they're both fully clothed, Cas only missing his shirt. They're too wrapped up in the moment to bother with the removal of clothing.

"C-close, Cas, I'm close," Dean pants, leaning down to attach his lips to the hot skin of Cas' neck.

"Me too, Dean," Cas responds, equally breathless and with two last, long thrusts against each other, both men fall over the edge, sighing each other's name.

When they've managed to catch their breath, Dean having rolled off of Cas and curled into his side, Cas' arm wrapped securely around him, Dean notices the strange glowing light from Cas' torso has disappeared.

"Cas?" he whispers, leaning on one elbow so he can see Castiel's face.

Cas turns to face him, a sleepy, sated smile on his face. "Yes, Dean?"

"You're not glowing anymore," Dean says, gesturing to Cas' middle. "Does that mean you're healed?"

Castiel looks down at his stomach where the bright light indeed no longer exists, and looks lovingly into Dean's eyes.

"Yes," he whispers, his voice soft and gentle in a way Dean has never heard him speak, "I am healed, Dean. You healed me." A tender smile crosses his features at this statement.

Flushing with pride, Dean leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to Cas' cheek. Then his nose. Then, finally, his lips, not bothered at all by the fact that this is so totally _not _Dean Winchester. Not that he cares.

Between gentle kisses, Dean whispers, "I love you, Cas" against Castiel's lips, smiling wider than he's ever smiled when Cas says, "I've loved you from the moment I saved you, Dean Winchester.

Snuggling even closer into Cas' warmth, Dean slips into a peaceful sleep, his angel keeping watch over him.

Outside Sam pauses, hand on the door handle. Then, thinking better of it, he turns and heads toward the main office thinking another room may not be such a bad idea.


End file.
